Debra Webb - Her Hidden Truth

MISSION RECOVERY

“SPECIAL OPERATIONS”

Director: Thomas Casey

Deputy Director: Lucas Camp

When all else fails,

a Specialist is called in to “recover” a situation.

This team of highly skilled men and women was created to serve the needs of all other U.S. government agencies whenever the usual channels failed. The elite force is trained in every area of antiterrorism and aggressive infiltration. All agents have extensive stealth and sniper training and are multilingual. They must meet the most stringent mental and physical requirements of any national or international security force. They are prepared to do whatever it takes to accomplish their mission….

Failure is not an option.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners and working in a factory, a day-care center, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mystery and movies for inspiration. In 1998 her dream of writing for Harlequin came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at P.O. Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345.

Katrina Moore—A deep cover CIA operative. The new memory implant that is supposed to protect her may very well be the death of her…as well as the man she loves.

Vince Ferrelli—A Specialist determined to protect the woman he fell in love with four years ago.

Thomas Casey—The enigmatic director of Mission Recovery.

Lucas Camp—Deputy director of Mission Recovery. He will do whatever is necessary to take care of his Specialists.

David Kovner—The suspected head of the World Security Agency, a ruthless group who preys on the young men and women of American society. Those recruited believe they are working for the good guys, when in reality WSA is a mortal enemy.

Philip Yu—The team leader. He has his sights set on more than making his mark with the WSA. He wants Kat for himself. He will allow nothing to stand in his way, not even Vince Ferrelli.

Jamal Johnson—The team’s driver and lookout.

Will Adams—The team’s cyber security expert.

Leva Vlasov—The team’s demolitions expert.

Professor Damrus—Is he more than a mild-mannered history professor?

Blue Callahan—As a Specialist in Mission Recovery, her job is to provide backup for Vince Ferrelli.

This book is dedicated to all the wonderful readers who have taken the time out of their busy schedules to read my stories. Thank you so much for the opportunity to entertain you. Thanks for all your support.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Mission Briefing

Vincent Ferrelli rarely went looking for trouble, but somehow it always found him. Maybe it was the Harley he rode or maybe it was just the handsome face God had blessed or, depending upon the way one looked at it, cursed him with. Whatever the case, Vince never backed down from a challenge, personal or professional.

Never.

Those damned flyboys from Langley Air Force Base didn’t know who they were messing with. Not one of the three—or all three together, for that matter—stood a chance in hell against an Italian boy born and street schooled in Trenton, New Jersey.

Oh, well, Vince mused, it was their funeral.

“Maybe you’d like to step outside and put your money where your mouth is,” the tallest of the three, and the one who appeared to be the leader, suggested.

There was no way to know the guy’s rank since he was dressed in civvies. But judging by his age, twenty-two or twenty-three, and the “wings” he’d boasted about, a first lieutenant maybe. Had probably just gotten those wings and thought he could rule the world. The other two were most likely from the same class. Fresh out of fighter-pilot training and ready to play the Air Force version of Top Gun.

But not tonight.

“It’d be my pleasure,” Vince said, barely restraining a grin as adrenaline raced through his veins. This would be a piece of cake. Casey would have his ass come morning, but tonight Vince was going to show these guys that you didn’t need wings or a buzz cut to be bad.

On more than one occasion Vince had been told that he was bad…bad to the bone. And why not? He’d earned it. A former U.S. Navy SEAL and now a Specialist in the most highly covert government agency.

Hell, yeah, he was bad.

And in the mood to blow off a little steam.

Vince followed the three outside the Lady Liberty Lounge. A blast of rock music tagged along but was quickly muffled by the door closing behind them. The still, sticky air hung in the July night like a shimmering ghost.

There were two things a guy could count on after dark during a D.C. summer, thickening humidity and restlessness. This part of the city literally vibrated at night—came to life in a way that was both alluring and dangerous. His own boredom had drawn Vince out to this sleazebag joint tonight. The need to do anything but watch another episode of some sitcom. The primal urge to discover the secrets the night held.

He should have stayed home.

If he had stayed home he wouldn’t be about to trade punches with these lightweights. There was nothing Vince hated more than waiting for his next mission. This time was going to prove no exception. And this time the trouble he usually attempted to avoid had found him.

The dim streetlights barely cut through the darkness, lending just enough illumination to get a readout on the facial expressions and body language of his opponents. The parking lot was jam-packed with the cars of patrons, but completely empty of people. They were all inside, gyrating to classic rock music, staking claims and pumping up the sexual tension. There would be no one to witness the lesson he was about to teach these still-wet-behind-the-ears gentlemen.

That was probably a good thing.

The biggest and beefiest of the three stepped forward. The way his nose crooked to the left, it was pretty clear that he was no stranger to barroom brawls.

“I tell you what, old man,” he said smugly, “just to even up the odds, why don’t you and I go one-on-one and the winner can take it from there.”

Okay, so he’d seen thirty his last birthday. That didn’t make him old by any stretch of the imagination. Vince shrugged in response, not even bothering to justify the ridiculous comment. Instead he took a moment to survey the spiffy, well-polished group. He’d bet a big, sweet slice of his mom’s cherry pie that every part of their wardrobe, down to the skivvies, sported designer labels purchased straight from the Post Exchange. These guys were green in every sense of the word.